


Stumble

by The_secret_fangirl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Gen, Light-Hearted, One Shot, Supernatural Elements, Supernatural Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28647372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_secret_fangirl/pseuds/The_secret_fangirl
Summary: Crowley comes to the bookshop acting a little... weird.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Stumble

Aziraphale had been putting off opening the shop the whole morning and was glad to notice that it was getting nearer to lunch hour. No use in doing it now then, he thought to himself while petting the covers of his prised possessions. The bell above the bookshop door jingled in the slightly menacing way Aziraphale wanted it to.

“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale greeted the demon clad in black. “You’re a tad early but I’ll finish shelving these soon and we can go.”

Crowley’s head had snapped towards the angel, eyebrows slightly raised at the word dear, and he stood in front of the slowly closing door for a few seconds. Seeming to shake himself out of his thoughts, he began to speak.

“Actually, I wasss thinking we could ssstay here. Drink a little wine,” Crowley said while lifting the bottle of wine that could be called average at best. Aziraphale tried to not to show his disappointment but failed miserably. He also frowned at the stretching sibilants that only came out when the demon was under considerable stress or exceedingly drunk. Seeing as worrying about his demonic adversary was definitely _not_ his job, Aziraphale pushed the thought away. Crowley didn’t appreciate someone fretting over him anyway.

“Alright, you can go ahead and get the glasses,” Aziraphale accepted and was already turning away when he noticed Crowley taking half a step and stopping again. “They’re in the cupboard in the back, like always.”

“Yeah, yeah, I knew that,” Crowley muttered. His normally already ridiculous walk was looking borderline dangerous today. Crowley’s legs tripped over each other and he had to catch himself on the edge of a bookshelf multiple times before he disappeared from view. Aziraphale deliberately gave Crowley more time to calm down than it took him to finish putting the books away. Maybe he had some dreadful news to tell.

Crowley seemed bored when Aziraphale made it to the table. His legs were spread wide and his elbows were leaning on the armrests. The glasses had made their way to the table, but the wine remained unopened. Aziraphale was quick to change that.

“So, Principality Aziraphale, what you been up to?” Crowley asked and snatched the wine glass. Aziraphale wondered if the title was meant to enforce the boundary between, no matter how uncharacteristic that would be of Crowley. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

“Oh, this and that. Bought a book recently, in very good condition, I barely had to do anything to restore it,” Aziraphale’s voice drifted off when he noticed that Crowley’s face was turned towards the spiralling staircase, a clear sign he wasn’t paying attention even with the sunglasses to hide his gaze. At first, Aziraphale had been uncomfortable with the demon’s undivided attention. He hadn’t noticed how used to it he had gotten over the years until it was taken away from him.

“No word from Heaven, Gabriel?” Crowley was clearly interested in his answer this time.

“Just notes about improving my blessings, says I focus too much on making people happy, not obedient,” Aziraphale confessed with the shame he always felt when talking about Gabriel.

“No big plans, anything at all you’d want to tell me?” Crowley pressed.

“No, not that I recall. Where is all of this coming from, my dear?” Aziraphale was getting tired of having to guess what was going on in the other’s head. Crowley lifted his untouched wine glass and took a big gulp. And then nearly spit it all out.

“I can admit it’s not the best you’ve provided but surely it’s not that bad,” Aziraphale pointed out as the demon brushed his wine-soaked chin on his jacket while grumbling something under his breath.

“Come on, let’s get fucking drunk,” Crowley declared and only winced a little at his second attempt to down the glass.

There was still some tension in the air but Aziraphale ignored it. That was his specialty after all. The day went on and he was nearing the edge of having the alcohol affect him after drinking an amount that would kill most humans. Crowley was once again worrying him. He was red in the face and had knocked over his (and Aziraphale’s) glass several times. His words were slurred and, without Aziraphale’s own pleasant buzz, impossible to understand.

“Sssooo, I ssaid to Dagon, no, we ca’t make ‘n inspira, an ins, a sign with a pike, who’sss ev’n scared of th’buggersss…” In the middle of his speech, Crowley’s head flopped onto the table. He didn’t move for several seconds while Aziraphale pondered the possibility of discorporation. Then he took a big gulp of air and stared at Aziraphale like his wings, divine eyes and all, had decided to make an appearance. At least he seemed sober.

In the darkest pits of Hell, Beelzebub was angrily pacing from one end of their office to the other, which was quite a feat for a creature with such short legs. They had been planning this scheme for months (minutes) and had decided on the perfect time to execute it (the moment they got to their office). Crowley had been taking too long to get vital information about Gabriel, or the Opposition, more broadly, I guess. They had decided to get their hands dirty, not that they weren’t already, and make the pesky angel talk. They took control of the corporation assigned to Crowley.

Nothing could’ve prepared them for the sheer amount of annoyance the Principality generated. They could appreciate Gabriel’s no-nonsense way of doing things even when he was a huge wanker. Aziraphale was a princess, waiting for Beelzebub, or who he thought was Crowley, to tend to his every will without ever earning the servitude, preferably in a way that involved a lot of blood. But the demon had heard that alcohol could loosen the lips. That had been a grave mistake. They couldn’t remember what they said to Aziraphale, but it couldn’t have been advisable. They had completely lost control of the corporation as the obnoxious angel sat across from them, prim as ever. Losing the last of the string tying them to the inferior demon’s body was inevitable, they’d had trouble controlling it from the start. Beelzebub kicked the metallic chair in front of them and cursed so loudly yet another rock fell from the ceiling of the cave.

Back in Soho, Crowley had gotten over the initial shock of waking up in a completely different place then where he’d fallen asleep. After some prodding he had gotten Aziraphale to describe, in detail, all the things “he” had done.

“Yeah, that’s Beez, alright,” Crowley concluded and sipped at his newly filled cup. “Ugh, that’s unacceptable, we’re taking one of yours.”

He got up and took a bottle of wine from the cabinet, seemingly at random. Aziraphale was fidgeting in his chair, he couldn’t brush these things off the way Crowley did. (Or the way Crowley pretended to. It would be years later that Aziraphale would understand.)

“Do you think we should take some new security measures?” Aziraphale inquired.

“Nah, it’s fine, I’m fine, you’re fine, it’s all good,” Crowley lifted one end of his mouth up to a smirk and plopped down into the chair, now using the back of it to dangle his left foot. His brain was already hard at work, trying to come up with ways to protect the angel from Hell's wrath. “We should go take that trip we planned tomorrow…”

And so he babbled on.


End file.
